She Will Be Loved
by rach64xoxo
Summary: Upon the death of her parents Christine and Raoul de Chagny, 6-year-old Gabrielle de Chagny moves into the restructured Opera Populaire, seven years after the fire. Will Erik's desire for any remainding piece of Christine go to far? Rated T to be safe.
1. Seven Years Later

**A/N- Hey readers! I just got to starting up this new story and I actually really like it. Please review with constructive criticism, I love it! I really hope you enjoy this story and help me decide if you want me to continue. If you would like to know, I listened to **_**She Will Be Loved**_** by Maroon 5 while writing the beginning with Gabrielle, and I listened to **_**'Till I Hear You Sing **_**from **_**Love Never Dies**_** and sung by Ramin Karimloo while writing about the Phantom (it gave me a few ideas). Again, I hope you enjoy! **

Gabrielle, shaking head to toe from the cold rain outside, stepped into Opera Populaire with her small suitcase in hand. The dreary, pale and empty Paris streets outside had not prepared her at all for what was happening on the inside of the refurbished opera house. There had to be thousands of different people running around, most in costume. Some were practicing lines, others were rehearsing a dance routine, and some were trying to get all of the actors into order. She gasped as a woman dressed as a swan leaped gracefully right in front of her face. A few people brushed against her shoulders a bit forcefully, making her teeter backwards. There was barely enough room to move, and it didn't help that she was at least a foot shorter than everyone else. The colors of white, black, and silver brushed past her eyes before she could even make out their shapes. It was positively dizzying. Most of the mob did not notice tiny Gabrielle, clutching on to a locket on her neck, but others pointed. And stared. And whispered. "Isn't that Christine Daae's girl?" a rather large man asked. "You mean the Phantom's soprano?" asked a young chorus girl with a nasally voice. "The very one!" whispered a stage director. Gabrielle glanced behind her to see if Miss Meg Giry, who was holding another small suitcase, was also shocked by this. To no surprise, the brave prima ballerina was not baffled at all. She actually seemed quite bored by the whole thing.

Miss Giry took Gabrielle's hand with force and practically dragged her through the crowds, towards the back of the opera house. Gabrielle took a chance to look back at the crowd. Though it was crowded and extremely overwhelming, it fascinated her. It all just seemed so… magical. There was no other way to put it. The mobs thinned slowly as they walked, but there were more whispers.

"Can you believe it's been seven years?"

"Do you think she has a voice like her mothers?"

"Let's hope the Phantom won't make any reappearances because of her."

Most laughed at the latter, which young Gabrielle didn't understand. Who was this "Phantom" they all kept talking about? The word reminded her of the scary stories Philippe, her uncle, would tell her to get the girl out of his study. Though her mother had reassured her they weren't real, they still gave Gabrielle nightmares. Not that she would admit it, of course. They also reminded her of whispered conversations that the de Chagny's thought she couldn't hear through her bedroom door. The hushed words had intrigued and confused her. They were all about a phantom, and the phantom had something to do with mother, she could deduce. Mother would usually cry during these conversations, also. Gabrielle always wanted to go and hug her mother, but she knew she couldn't. This "Phantom" always seemed to be such a pitiful character in the way mother had talked about him. Father, however, had always spoken of the spirit in disgust. When Gabrielle had brought it up hearing these conversations to her mother, she said, "Silly child, you must have been dreaming." However, she had a far away look in her eyes afterwards. The thought of her parents brought tears to the young girl's eyes.

She longed for their touch and kind words. She wished she still had her warm bedding to crawl into tonight. She would have given anything for the various forgotten passages and the wide open lawns of the de Chagny estate to explore. But that was all gone now.

Finally, they had reached a hallway with no people. Gabrielle took the chance to breathe. She touched the walls of stone which were cool and almost damp. Her brow wrinkled. It was hardly warming or comforting like her old home, but it was defiantly intriguing. Miss Giry opened a door on the right side of the hallway. Thankfully, it hosted only one bed. Though Gabrielle was most fond of exploring, she was not a fan of being with other people. She preferred to be alone.

Miss Giry put the suitcase down at the foot of the small bed looked at Gabrielle with a soft expression. She was a complicated young child and wise beyond her age. Meg would have to keep close watch of her, for she knew the mischievous little child was known to wander and explore without permission. Her attitude was not like her mothers, she knew, for Christine had been shy and naïve, while her daughter was brave and understanding. Though she did not like to be around others, if she had to, she loved to be the center of attention. She had her father's deep dirty blonde hair and her mother's large, doe-like brown eyes. However, instead of them being full of whimsy and misunderstanding as Christine's were, young Gabrielle's eyes were intriguingly wise but recently, they had filled with sorrow. Meg blinked back tears herself. Such a young girl shouldn't be exposed to such tragedy. She was barely six and yet she already had to cope with the loss of her parents. But she was brave. Braver than most grown men, even. Meg motioned for the young child to sit.

"How do you like it so far, Gabrielle?" Meg inquired softly. The girl glanced back out into the hallway. "Well, it's a bit crowded. It's lovely though. Just think of all the people all coming together to make a production. All of the costumes and the singing… it's mind-blowing, don't you think? It's almost like magic." The young girl rambled. Meg smiled. The words would have sounded silly and naïve out of any other child, yet they sounded wise out of her mouth. It was as if she just understood everything so well. "You should probably get to bed, its getting late." Gabrielle glanced at Meg. "Can't I watch the opera?" she pleaded. "The opera ends so late! Your mother would- ah, well, I think you should go to bed for tonight. It's been a long day. There will be other opportunities to watch the opera, plenty. I'm sure you'll get sick of it some time," laughed Meg.

Gabrielle's eyes widened. She knew she could never get sick of watching the productions. Whenever her mother sang it was like angels. That's what father would always say. She sang like an angel. Gabrielle had always longed to see one of the operas in which her mother's songs came from. So her mother promised that she would take her to one some day. Unfortunately, that day was never to come.

Meg opened the door and was starting to slip out when Gabrielle asked her to stop. She glanced up. "Yes, what it is the matter?"

"Miss Giry, can you tell me about the Phantom?"

She drew a sharp intake of breath. Gabrielle- how had she- it was hardly a story for a six year old to hear! But the girl was so bent on hearing who he was. The whispers in the hallways and the conversations of her parents had driven her to such a curiosity. Meg walked back to her bed. "Get ready for bed and I will tell you," she allowed with a sigh. Gabrielle jumped and rushed around the room, washing up and getting into her night dress. In just a matter of minutes, she hopped back into the bed and pulled the covers to her chin, while tying her long dark blonde hair back in a ribbon. Meg rubbed her temples. Was it right to tell a girl of such an age this story? She supposed it was acceptable to let the girl know as much about her mother as possible, especially at a time like this.

"Well the story starts seven years ago, yes, right before you were born…" Meg started with a sigh. She told the young girl of how a phantom- or, as her mother believed, the Angel of Music- reached out to her in a time of need, after the loss of her father. He had tutored her soprano voice to perfection and ordered her to be cast as the lead roles of productions. Meg told her about how Christine had become smitten with her childhood friend, Raoul de Chagny. Gabrielle's eyes blinked in recognition of her father's name. Meg bared all, about the masquerade, about Don Juan Triumphant, about the horridness of the Phantom's revealed face. She told about the great fire that had nearly ruined most of the Opera Populaire. And finally, how the Phantom had made Christine choose her freedom and Raoul's death, or become wed to the Phantom and let her father go free. She chose to let Raoul live, and as an act of mercy, the Phantom let Christine go with Raoul at last. And finally, when they had reached the cellar, how all they could find of the Phantom was his porcelain mask.

Gabrielle sat in absolute shock. Meg furrowed her brow. Oh no, now she was to give the child nightmares. However, Gabrielle formed her composure once more. "So he wasn't a phantom… just a man. A man who wanted to be loved." She said simply. Meg was again shocked at the child's gentle understanding. "Yes… just a man who wanted to be loved." Meg answered with a small sniff. "Is he still here?"

"No… he left. After the fire, when reconstruction happened. They never found him." Meg avoided the girl's eye. Gabrielle raised an eyebrow at her indirect answer but settled into bed anyways. "Thank you Miss Giry." She whispered. "Goodnight Gabrielle." Meg said before blowing out the candelabra that was lighting the room. She left quietly before dashing to her dressing room quickly, easily dodging the performers. She opened the door with haste and grabbed a large cape on the coat rack. She lunged for the matches and a single candle. Before she even had time to see the inside of her dressing room she was gone again, but this time in the opposite direction of the crowds.

She scurried down the long hallways before she found the last room- Christine Daae's old dressing room. It was vacant at the moment, but Meg was almost certain that someone would be occupying it soon. The room was a bit eerie now- the vanity that used to be littered with perfume bottles and varying makeup was now clean except for a thin later of dust. Meg hadn't been in this room in years. The familiar walls and drapes were almost haunting now- the old captor of this dressing room was now gone. Forever. Meg stifled a sob at the thought. She tried not to think of the death of her dear friend much, but with the appearance of her daughter it seemed to be in her mind much more. Of course, the hurt must have been so much worse for the young girl; her parents were the only ones she knew. Meg shook her head at the thought and shyly stepped towards the old mirror. There was a small scratch in the corner and many streaks throughout the center. Meg sighed and struck the match, lighting her candle. She held it in front of her and slid the mirror sideways. The ballerina stepped through the passage quietly and quickly, draping her cloak over her as the chill of the lake underneath sent a shiver up her spine.

The elusive Phantom- well, just a lonely man now, he supposed- hunched over his great organ yet again as he read off sheet music from some of his composed works. After a few minutes of the slow melody meeting his ears, he simply tossed the papers aside, some falling far enough as to soak in the vast lake. Erik laid his head in his hands. What was the point anymore? How could he compose such music when he knew that the voice he needed- _her _voice- would never be there to complete it?

How many years had it been now? It was hard to even just live out the days, as they dragged slowly and uneventfully. After the reconstruction of the Opera Populaire and after a year of hiding with the Girys, he had returned to his home- if you could call it that- underneath the opera house, which had not been touched by the fire. He clearly remembered the day he returned. Once his lair had seemed like a paradise to him- but that was back when there was something to live for. The one thing his existence had craved and needed was now gone: Christine Daae.

It was almost as if he expected her to just walk through the door one day. He knew this to be impossible, for she was happy with her precious Vicomte, May his soul burn in hell. Though Erik would not admit it, he felt immense jealousy for the young man- his beauty and youth had won over Christine that fateful night, the night he let her go. The memories of that night, the night of Don Juan Triumphant, stained his dreams and thoughts every moment. He was not able to escape them in his conscious or subconscious mind. The once brave and intimidating Opera Ghost was now reduced to what was not even half of a man whose heart was missing. It had all gone to that little chorus girl who was grieving the death of her father. Where had her precious Raoul been then? Not by her, to comfort her, as Erik was. He had given her his music, his tutoring, his heart and his soul, all to have it thrown back into his face. And what a face it was! How would his life have played out without his distortion? Would he have even met Christine? Would he now be shattered beyond repair?

His anguished thoughts were interrupted by a faint call in the distance. He recognized the voice immediately as Meg Giry, Antoinette Giry's girl. "Monsieur le Fantôme? May I cross? I do not want to startle you," she called out softly. "Of course," answered Erik hesitantly.

Meg slipped into the boat that the Phantom kept on the other side of the lake so that others, such as her mother and herself, could get across, as he didn't come across very often. He knew now to keep to himself downstairs. It was best for him not to be seen or to pull anymore antics. Meg knew this so called "Ghost" well, for she and her mother had hidden him away for a year while they still investigated the crime of the hangings of Joseph Buquet and Piangi. After they decided to give up the case, the man had moved back into his usual dwellings. Over the year, Meg hadn't really become close to the Phantom- just accustomed to him. She knew of his pain and how he was broken so much inside. However, she only now came into contact with him as little as possible, only coming to see him like this when something big had happened.

So this is why the Phantom was filled with anxiety. What would be so important that little Meg Giry, who was usually busying herself with ballet practice, would come and visit the lonely man who lived beneath the opera house. It was a bit irritating to some point- he was still quite a fan of his solidarity and did not want the company. He had merely laughed at the phrase, "Misery loves company." Not in _this _case.

Meg slowly rowed the boat across the vast, misting, green-tinted lake. She could see his stone island in the distance, just the same as it had ever been. She took her sweet time getting across as she tried to deliberate how to break the news to such a wounded man, whose dreams and thoughts were still littered with all of his misfortunes of seven years earlier.

At last, the petite young dancer reached his small island of stone. She climbed out gracefully, but awkwardly stood at the edge, not knowing if she should get any closer. It was almost impossible to judge what kind of state of mind the Phantom was- it varied more often then the weather. He stood at his organ and stared at her with an aura of anger about him, asking her with his eyes to explain her presence. "Um… hello…" she started hesitantly. He gave a small nod of salutations. She glanced behind her shoulder, almost worried.

"Monsieur le Fantôme, well, there is something important that I thought you might like to know…" she started, avoiding his eyes. He gave her another burning stare. Must she go on like this? It wasn't as if any random activity in the opera house excited him anymore. What could be so important? She shifted from foot to foot and nervously executed a pirouette.

How was she supposed to word this without hurting him? He obviously had no idea or premonition of what was coming. She took a deep breath and decided to just tell him directly. What kind of state he be in after this? She dared not wonder.

Was the prying girl just trying to get to him now? He wished to be alone again, to be able to reflect on his own mind, to be able to compose from his broken heart. Not that it would matter with no voice, the voice of his sweet and beloved, who was gone now. The thought that she was out in the world somewhere loving her life gave him a small slimmer of hope, however. At least he knew that she was happy, even if it had to be without him. He glanced at the dancer again, hoping she would speak up.

"Christine de Chagny and her husband… they… well, they died in a train incident, Monsieur le Fantôme."

The small slimmer of hope that he had slipped through his fingers.


	2. Broken Once Again

**A/N: I know, I haven't updated in such a long time. I sincerely apologize. I just have been very busy. Well, for the past couple of days, I have just been lazy and spent my vacation either with friends or slumped over the computer reading some good E/M fan fiction. I decided I should stop spending my days in my pajamas, so I made sure to be a big girl by doing my hair, putting on actual clothes, and sitting down to write this story. On a side note, I think I have laryngitis because I can't talk. I guess I'll just let my fingers do the talking and type now. That sounded cheesy. Off we go!**

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Meg let out a shallow gasp as she was pulled from her feet and staggered against the cold, stone wall. The Phantom's hands were grasped firmly around her shoulders in a tight grip. "Monsieur!" she cried out in utter shock. What a way to treat a lady! Meg desperately tried to pry his hands away from her in vain. He pressed her against the surface harder as she tried to squirm away. "You're lying!" he roared in her face.

She shook her head sadly, deciding it was best not to try and escape from him. "I wish I was, Monsieur." She whispered, her eyes starting to water from the squeezing grip he had on her shoulders. He finally released her, and with a theatrical and unnecessary swish of his cape, he turned from her and slumped over his organ. The sudden rush of blood through her shoulders after the cutting off of her circulation was almost painful.

Hesitantly, she reached out a hand to place on his back to awkwardly console him. She noticed with a start that he was crying. Even when she spent the first weeks with him after he lost his Christine to the Vicomte, she had never seen him cry. He was all about keeping his composure around the young ballerina and her mother. She had heard the sobs through closed doors, however. It was a sound filled with such a broken hearted emptiness that it chilled her to the bone.

A tear fell down her fair cheek as well as the Phantom stood up straight and faced her. His eyes were bloodshot as he vainly tried to put on bravado of false confidence. "Is there anything else you have to say?" he choked out as he turned back around.

There was nothing more she wanted then to leave, but she had to tell him. She let out a sigh and wiped her cheek. "Before the- er- the _accident, _Christine had a… a child. She is now staying here." She finished slowly, waiting for it to sink in.

The Phantom turned around and looked at her in a slight state of shock. A strange feeling that he couldn't place was filling him. He imagined a small Christine, much like the young child he had comforted, running around the opera house once again. He glanced up at the prima ballerina in astonishment. "A… a child?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yes, her name is Gabrielle." Meg whispered gently. It was almost impossible to tell the emotions flickering in his eyes. She wondered if he knew how utterly and frustratingly _unreadable _he was. She furrowed her brow as he stood there in silence, obviously contemplating something.

There was another child in need of comfort, just like her mother. He mentally shook his head. Now, see how _that _turned out. But there was something there, within him now… a temptation. Now that he knew, he just needed to see the child, the closest thing on this earth that there was to his poor Christine. He was snapped out of his half-subconscious state by Meg, who impolitely cleared her throat. He felt a stab of slight anger. Hadn't she _left _yet? There was too much to ponder with the young woman in front of him.

"Monsieur le Fantôme, I know this is a lot to take in at the moment, but I must order you against seeing the young child." Meg declared firmly.

"_Order _me?" he challenged her. He was the Phantom of the Opera, for heaven's sake. No one _ordered _him to do anything. Though, Meg Giry seemed to be one of the brave only who merely scoffed at the fear others had for him.

"Yes, I order you to stay away from her. You know as well as I do that no one wants a return of the events that happened so long ago. I have already told the child the story- God forgive me- and she knows of you. Don't try and fool her, Monsieur. She is not blind and naïve as her mother was. She has seen more of life than most of her age. If you were wise, you would listen to me and stay away from the young child. God knows she's had enough traumatizing experiences for one lifetime."

Erik surveyed the tiny dancer, who had tried to intimidate him with her small tirade. He simply scoffed. "Fine." He spat rather violently. "If you would be kind enough to leave me now, Mademoiselle," he said, gesturing to the boat she had arrived in. She surveyed him once before leaving him to be.

Once the girl was about half way across the lake, the Phantom turned away and stalked towards the mirrors heaved up against the wall. They still sat shattered from the torment of so many years before. He ran his hand along the golden sides of the frame. He glanced over at the table, which still housed dozens of drawings of his fair Christine.

Christine… who was now gone forever.

All though he thought it was impossible, his mangled heart broke all over again.

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The next morning, Gabrielle woke early. She was to train for ballet, so she would be good enough when she was old enough to dance in the productions. With as much energy as anyone could have at such an early hour, she leaped from her bed and started to brush her hair, wincing at every tug that a tangle brought.

She struggled as she tried to braid her hair back. She tried to copy the movements her mother had made every morning to no avail. She slapped the brush down against the vanity with frustrated tears in her eyes. It seemed ridiculous to get so upset at such a trivial thing as braiding her hair, but she couldn't help it. She wished her mother were still there to do it for her. Things would be so much easier now if she was here.

A few hours later, Gabrielle returned to her room, her mind spinning with pirouettes, pique turns, and grand jetés. She all but collapsed onto her cot, getting her shoes off as fast as possible. How many years of ballet did they try and cram into her tiny mind today! She supposed it would all pay off if she could be a ballerina one day. Though the moves were difficult, they looked beautiful. She had edited out the foolish, superfluous arm movements of her instructor, making it look much neater. She had received a good scolding for doing so, but it was worth it.

Gabrielle examined her feet, which were already forming blisters. She tossed her shoes aside carelessly and decided she would find some bandages to protect them from anymore damage. They would most likely be in the ballet dormitories. She ran down the abandoned hall barefooted, wincing at the feel of the cold floors.

The dormitory was an extreme mess, with petticoats and underclothes everywhere. Gabrielle wrinkled her brow at the cleaning habits of the teenage girls. She was now not surprised they were often called ballet rats. She stepped over a discarded perfume bottle to an almost fully unraveled roll of bandages. Well, pilfering a few rolls from their collection wouldn't be _so _much of a sin, would it?

She almost jumped at the sound of the obstreperous girls nearing her as she was sampling one of the perfumes. She quickly jumped out the door and took the opposite route that the girls were coming from, complaining of their rehearsal. "Has anyone seen the bandages?" cried a nasally girl. Gabrielle giggled before slipping down deeper into an unexplored part of the opera house.

She danced along the hallways, smiling at whoever passed. Some smiled back while others looked confused at the content young girl scurrying about with armfuls of bandages. She stopped short at a little archway in the stone. _Chapelle, _it read, with a simple gold cross above it. Curious, she stepped inside.

It was a small room, with lines of candles and stain-glassed windows. Gabrielle dropped her bandages and looked around hesitantly, touching the smooth glass of the window and finally kneeling in front of the candles. The one with the most wear also held a picture in front of it. It looked awfully familiar. Her fingers traced over the name. _Gustave Daae. _So her mother had been here too? She imagined her mother coming to light a candle for her grandfather. The very thought made the back of her eyes prick with tears.

Gabrielle took a match from the stack lined up at the bottom and lit it from another flame. She placed the fire on three candles- one for her mother, the other for her father, and another on the place for her grandfather. She folded her hands in prayer and whispered into the silence.

"Dear God, Um… I know you're busy and all and I don't really know how this works, but could you please tell my mother and father I love and miss them? I know they're up in Heaven with you because they were always so good to me. Please take good care of them. Um, just tell me if this is too much to ask, but could you also make my ballet instructor less crabby? But the mother and father thing is more important than that. Even though I don't have parents anymore, I guess I still have a pretty good life. So thanks for the opera house and Meg and good stuff like that. Please don't forget about telling Christine and Raoul de Chagny that I miss them and I really wish they were here, but I'm glad they can enjoy Heaven now. Thanks again. Amen."

Gabrielle wiped a stray tear away from her face. Hopefully He heard her and was delivering her message now. She sighed and watched the candle. Now there was something she could never get tired of. Candles mesmerized her. She enjoyed watching the flame dance and flicker with excitement at the slightest bit of wind.

She looked down and began crying again. What was the matter with her? She almost never cried, even when she scraped her knee or pricked her finger while her mother taught her how to sew. This pain was different, though. It was inside her, in her chest, like the flame of a candle. But instead of dying out, the flame kept getting stronger as she realized how hard it would be without them as the days went on. The tears were falling fast now. A sound other than her sob suddenly broke the silence.

_Child, why do you mourn?_

Gabrielle whipped her head around for the unseen sound. She must have been imagining things. She wiped her cheeks furiously, tilting her head back to try and blink away anymore oncoming tears. The deep, gentle voice cried out the same question again. She tried to locate where the noise was coming from to no avail, it seemed to be all around her.

"Who's there?" she cried out, her voice cracking. Was a bored stagehand pulling a trick on the young girl? She pulled her knees to her chin nervously.

_Do not fear, child, it is I, the Angel of Music…_

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**A/N: AH! Another cliffy! I'm quite fond of them, you know. And if you think this is just going to be another repeat of the Erik/Raoul/Christine fiasco, you're wrong. This tale is going in a different direction. As Meg said, Gabrielle is much different than Christine was. Reviews are awesome. Thank you!**


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